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“I like tea just fine. I’m still wrapping my head around a tree trying to crawl into bed with me.”
“We’ll sort it out tomorrow. Or,” he clarified as a particularly strong gust buffeted the cabin, “when the storm dies down.”
While watching Nick wrinkle his nose but still sip the hot tea, Martin began trying to solve the problem of where Nick would sleep for the next few hours. The only comfortable solution was Martin’s bed. The flooring throughout the cabin was hardwood, and the couch was a two-seater, barely sixty inches long. And while he had located his coolers, Martin still didn’t know where he’d put his sleeping bag and cushy pad.
Nick wasn’t as broad as Martin, being lean rather than muscled, but he was almost as tall. Trying to sleep on the couch would be torture. And trying to sleep sitting up was ridiculous when there was a perfectly good, large bed.
“Drink up and we’ll try to get some rest for a few hours. I have a king bed that will fit the both of us,” Martin told Nick.
“Wha—” Nick sputtered, choking on the sip of tea he’d just taken. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the mug. “No.”
“Can you just not argue about this tonight?” Martin asked. “The floor is hard and cold. The couch is too short for either of us. In the morning—if we wake up in one piece—you can argue with me until you’re blue in the face. But right now, I’d just like to get a couple hours of sleep. I have a feeling we’re going to have a busy day.”
Nick stared at him. Martin had no idea what was going on behind those stormy eyes of his. That was a lie; he had a suspicion Nick was working up some old-fashioned outrage.
“No. I’ll sleep on the couch. The cat will keep me company, and I’ve slept in worse places.”
Martin opened his mouth to try and change Nick’s mind but decided against it. “You know what? I don’t care where you sleep. I’m going back to bed.”
He left the kitchenette, taking his tea with him. He wasn’t going to force Nick Waugh to do anything. Suggesting his bed probablywasa bit weird, but not to a guy who’d been on plenty of digs where sleeping situations had often been make-do. It wasn’t as if he had a linen closet full of spare bedding. In the spring maybe, when the cabins were up and running, but not tonight. And not anytime soon.
Climbing back into his own very comfortable bed, Martin scooted to the far side just in case Nick changed his stubborn-ass mind. He chuckled; it was more likely Bigfoot would share his bed before Nick. Was the mythical beast a top, a bottom, or vers?
He sipped at his tea, enjoying the spicy flavors and the warmth of it because it had been fucking cold outside, and listened for Nick. But he heard nothing over the wind. When his tea was gone, Martin set the empty mug on the windowsill and turned onto his side, knowing he probably wouldn’t fall deeply asleep but that shutting his eyes for a few hours would help.
The power finally went out a few hours later, but less than a minute after, the new generator kicked in. Martin knew this because he’d given up trying to sleep and had been dozing to the latest Jack Reacher audiobook when the bedside lamp flickered off, leaving just the red light of the fire alarm on the ceiling. He’d waited, fingers crossed, for the generator to turn on and pumped his fist when it did.
No surprise, Nick had not accepted his offering of a comfortable spot to sleep. Hopefully, he’d stayed instead of deciding that being out in the storm was better than being anywhere near Martin. What the hell was with that anyway? Flipping the duvet off his body, he got out of bed for the second time since midnight.
Martin headed to the kitchen, needing coffee. Passing the couch, he paused and eyed the somewhat-welcome sight of Nick asleep with the content kitten smack in the middle of his chest. There was no way Nick’s back wasn’t going to hurt when he woke up. His head was awkwardly propped up on one end and his feet hung over the other. Martin would need several sessions at the chiropractors after a night—or even an hour—in that position. And damn, without the drawn-together eyebrows and constant frown, Nick Waugh was a damn good-looking man.
This is not good.
Martin’s heart rate increased as the implication of the thought washed over him. He’d been doing a good job of ignoring his low-key attraction to the prickly younger man. This turn of events was not okay. He hadn’t been remotely attracted to anyone since Joe. He’d kind of figured he was done with romance.
Not that he wanted romance with his unconscious visitor.
Nick snuffled. His long, straight nose twitched, and his wide mouth looked as if it might want to smile while Nick wasn’t awake enough to scowl. His dark blond eyebrows naturally flared upward at the end, much like a bird’s wing.
Martin’s cock twitched, and he literally stopped breathing for a second. Hell, no. He could not be attracted to this… thisferal human.
He did his best to squash his reaction by bringing up memories of food poisoning and oh, yes, his heart attack. No matter how good-looking he was, Nick Waugh was out of bounds, a no think-feel-touch zone Martin could not violate.
Heart attack, Martin reminded himself, even as he wasstillstanding there staring at Nick. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before. The inability to draw in a breath. Being hooked up to IVs and machines that beeped and glowed as his heart righted itself again.
Martin wasn’t looking for a partner. Or even a hookup. Right?He wasn’t.
After the breakup with Joe, Martin had been too busy teaching and running the department to date. Which had been Joe’s complaint in the first place, that he never came first in Martin’s world. The heart attack had changed all that—although Joe was long gone by then. Martin rubbed at his chest, worrying away the phantom pain.
Nick shifted and flung one arm over his head, moaning quietly, as if he was having a bad dream. The cat slept on. While it was tempting to shake Nick awake and ask if he was okay, Martin decided against it. But his dick still hadn’t gotten the memo and stirred again. Touching Nick in any way would be a Very Bad Idea.
And a good way to earn a punch in the face.
Thankful for the generator advice Xavier had given him, as well as Electrician Rob’s scheduling finesse, Martin abandoned ogling his tenant and moved into the kitchen where the espresso machine beckoned.
He made no attempt to be quiet, although he also didn’t bang pots and pans like his father had when Martin had been in high school. Dad had always insisted he didn’t mean to be loud, but Martin knew it was his way of getting him up for school.
His back was to the kitchen entrance and he was just steaming the milk for his coffee when Martin felt Nick’s presence behind him.
